Packed Your Bags and Walked Away
by Wolf Maid
Summary: One-shot. Dean doesn’t regret giving everything up for Sam, but Sam’s lying and Dean’s got the weight of the world on his shoulders and sometimes being strong isn’t as important as being true. And sometimes not walking away is enough.


AN: All my Dean stories are angsty-ish. I should fix that. So I went all over the charts with Sam in this story, which I'll blame on Dean since Dean's the one that's describing him.

One-shot. Dean doesn't regret giving everything up for Sam, but Sam's lying and Dean's got the weight of the world on his shoulders and sometimes being strong isn't as important as being true.

None of this belongs to me.

…x…

…Packed Your Bags and Walked Away…

_**./.**_

_If you throw a penny into the Trevi Fountain, legend says you will someday return to Rome._

_**./.**_

"_Sam_," he says.

_There's an old song about love and despair, beauty and anger, and we carry it around in our bones, in our skin, in the way we look at the world. Some of us more than others._

_**./.**  
_

Dean remembers the moments, the heartbeats, when he had a choice _except not really_ when he could turn away and walk away _from everything and everyone._

As if he could.

As if there'd ever been an option.

There hadn't been, not really, not for _him_.

Sam had grabbed his bags and walked away as if he didn't realize that Dean couldn't, instead of just not caring that Dean couldn't, but Dean knows Sam, knows him maybe better than Sam knows himself, seen enough of _Sam possessed _and _Sam fevered_ and _Sam angry_ to know that Sam had looked at him, had added up everything Dean meant to him, and walked away anyway. Left him there.

Saved himself.

The worst of it, of course, is that Dean can't even be genuinely angry. Because he's supposed to have taught Sam everything, because their father was never around and Dean became the father/older brother/family that Sam needed, and didn't he every single hunt, every single moment show Sam, tell Sam, prove to Sam that Sam was more important?

Didn't he push Sam out of the way of danger and risk himself and pick up the slack and lie to their father to save Sam from punishment and _didn't he show him what he was worth?_

_Sometimes Dean imagines pennies in a jar for every time he put Sam first, and thinks how much that would add up to, except he doesn't really, because he doesn't ever admit that sometimes he'd like to be put first, that sometimes he thinks of all the could-have-beens._

Dean is the hunter in the purest sense. Senses toned, reflexes sharp, there's no other job in the world that could suit him, no other profession in which he'd excel quite as well. And then of course there was their father, _John Winchester_, who liked things to be perfect and made sure everyone knew when they weren't.

To be fair, he was an equal-opportunity prick to his sons. Dean had just learned young to cover for his brother.

Of course, when Sam decided it was high time to be a prick back, he'd already learned _just how willing_ Dean was to take blame.

_Daddy's. Little. Soldier_.

He'd spent his entire life keeping his family together, and in one fell swoop it was torn apart.

Sam walked away. _And Dean knows it's his fault._

So after Sam gets dragged back into the mix, and after Sam tells him he's staying until the Demon's dead, and after their father dies and Sam says he's _there there there _for him…

He's kneeling in the mud, holding onto the limp form of his brother, and he knows he's going to give up his soul to bring him back. _Simple as that_.

He can't escape. He never really could. And what's one more penny in the jar? _One more thing not to regret?_

And after he's dragged into Hell and then dragged out of Hell and learns about _seals and destiny and angels and prophets…_

Well. It's a simple salt-and-burn.

He's standing on one side of the grave, and on the other side, illuminated briefly by the flames, Sam's face is recognizable in the dark.

And Dean thinks about the pennies.

And thinks about the things _he doesn't regret_.

And wonders why he ever thought Sam could walk away.

Because Sam might not be the Hunter Dean is, might not be bred for it, might have been able to slip away into normalcy but they're family, they're tied blood and bone, they're bound destiny and fate, and didn't Dean teach Sam about responsibility? He made sure Sam knew how to take care of Sam, knew that Dean could take care of himself, but he also made sure Sam knew _how to be good_.

And they're in the car, and Sam's lying (again) and Dean knows, sickeningly, that whatever he's doing with the _hellspawn bitch_ Sam's doing it because Sam thinks _it's the right thing to do._

And isn't this what Dean was supposed to teach him? Black/white, good/bad, right/wrong.

_Hunting and bullies and riding a bike and somehow everything's still coming out wrong._

What Castiel doesn't know, doesn't realize, doesn't want to see is that Dean might not be able to walk away, might not be able to turn his back, might be the righteous man they say he is, but there's too many pennies in a jar that will always grow to fit them, too many moments and heartbeats that Dean couldn't change if he wanted to, too much love in a heart that will never be too small.

_**./.**_

_There's an old song about love and despair, beauty and anger, and we carry it around in our bones, in our skin, in the way we look at the world. It's the name of a loved one, the look of the guilty one, the touch of the sacred, the breath of the night._

_It's an old song, and nobody remembers the lyrics right. You think you hear love. You think you hear silence. You think you hear justice. You think you hear me._

_**./.**_

Dean's standing on the edge, and Sam's staring right back at him.

"Don't do this," Dean says.

"You can't do this on your own," Sam says.

Dean just looks at him. "You're doing this because you don't want to die," he says. "Not because you want to save me."

"_Dean—"_

"I told Cas I couldn't do it, but he didn't ask me why," Dean says. "I said I'm not strong enough, but he didn't ask me what I needed strength to do."

"I can stop this," Sam says, all desperation and generosity and confusion and power.

"Cas didn't know, but I knew. You always knew I couldn't walk away, but it took me awhile to realize you couldn't either."

"Dean, we've got to stop it!"

"You're going to kill me," Dean says.

"_What?"_

"You're going to go too far, you're going to cross a line, and the good guys are going to try to take you out. And I'm going to try to stop them. And I'm going to die."

"Dean…" Sam breathes out, but Dean doesn't look away.

"It's going to push you over the edge. You'll say it's to get justice for me, but you're going to know that they're coming for you, that nothing will stop them from destroying you, and you're going to fight them. Maybe fight demons too, but you're going to fight the angels. And Lucifer is going to walk the Earth."

"I can control it," Sam says. "I know when to stop."

"You're a fucking addict, Sammy. And I screwed up somewhere, because you don't even realize it. You were right, trying to walk away," he says. "Stanford wasn't far enough, nowhere was fucking far enough, but you were right to leave me, right to try."

"I'm not going anywhere," Sam says, and Dean just shakes his head.

"It wasn't always my fault," he says. "But I taught you, I brought you back looking for Dad, I brought you back to life, I left you again."

"I'm the only one who can end it," Dean says. "That's what Cas told me, I'm the only one who can stop the end of the world, and it's because of _you_, because you don't know when to stop, don't understand what's at stake. Cas didn't know what he was asking me to do, but I know."

"What, are you going to kill me?" Sam says, trying for a sneer, fingers almost trembling as he crosses his arms.

"Pennies," Dean says.

"Pennies?" Sam repeats, confused, and Dean shakes his head.

"Neither of us are ever going to be able to walk away," Dean says. "And I can't do anything to fix that."

"Dean," Sam says. "I can help."

Dean looks at him, silent, for a long moment. "I can't do this on my own," he says. "I need your help, Sammy," he says. "But not like this. I need you to stop. Not because it's wrong, not because you could get hurt. I'm asking you to stop for _me_, and I don't ask you to do things, Sammy. Please stop."

"Dean," Sam says, all breathless whisper, and Dean looks at him, not letting him look away.

"Please stop," he says, and Sam's bottom lips trembles.

"I don't know what to do anymore," Sam says, and Dean holds out his arms, and Sam walks into them.

"We'll figure it out, Sammy," Dean says, thinking of pennies, thinking of all the things he can't ever regret, not when Sam's in his arms, not when the fate of the world is on his shoulders. "We'll get through this," he says. "But this time you can't walk away from me. This time I can't take the fall. This time I need your help."

"Okay," Sam says. Just like that. "Okay."

Dean thinks of pennies and regrets and all the things he doesn't think about, and all the things he does think about, and _maybe just maybe_ family isn't something people _can_ walk away from, maybe sacrifice goes both ways, maybe being _trapped_ and being _safe_ are sometimes too close to distinguish, maybe life is only the sum of what we know and what we are taught.

_**./.**_

_It's an old song, and nobody remembers it right, but it plays when there's nothing left to say, when the world is music and lyrics and night._

Dean can hear it.

It's loud and it's vibrant and it's screaming in the day.

He closes his eyes.

_He says, "Sam_."

_**./.**_

_If you throw a penny into the Trevi Fountain, legend says you will someday return to Rome._

_**./.**_

_Finis_

...x...

* * *

...x...

AN: This makes perfect sense to me, but it's 2am so I can only hope the vaguer qualities actually work how they're supposed to. Oh, and before people start asking, the lines about "it's an old song" etc. aren't quoted from anything, I just started off the story that way and figured I'd go with it, lol.

Anyway, as I said Sam might've seemed a bit scattered but that's because Dean's seeing different sides of him, and look! I actually wrote a good!Sam, putting his brother first, etc! Yay Sammy! haha...nah, I do love him, honest. All right, off to bed. Much love, Wolfie


End file.
